


circumambulation

by wrennette



Series: setup/payoff [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blanket Permission, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Injury Recovery, Intimacy, M/M, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: Slowly, Din and Boba circumnavigate their personal histories. They line up dates and factions, determine that they're probably only a few years apart in age, and orphaned within a few years of one another. Their commonalities give them a starting point.Peeling off the armour, piece by piece and all at once.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Boba Fett, Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Series: setup/payoff [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070903
Comments: 31
Kudos: 397





	circumambulation

**Author's Note:**

> sort of sequel to [a single specious need](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080015) but reading that isn't required for this to make sense.
> 
> sneaking this in before the next episode

Slowly, Din and Boba circumnavigate their personal histories. They line up dates and factions, determine that they're probably only a few years apart in age, and orphaned within a few years of one another too. Their commonalities give them a starting point. 

Boba doesn't press Din to pull off his armour, or his helmet. He removes his own, bares his scarred skin to Din's eyes, lets Din ghost curious hands over the twisting patches of discolouration the sarlacc left behind. The scarred skin is bumpy, paler than the smooth brown of the rest of Boba and almost grey in places, thankfully not necrotic, and incapable of growing hair. 

Little tufts of black to grey curls sprout intermittently on Boba's broad chest and down the centerline of his belly, thicker around his cock. The scar tissue is heaviest where the armour didn't cover him, but the sarlacc's digestive enzymes had gotten beneath the plates too. As the trust slowly builds between them, Boba asks Din to rub an oily liniment the Tuskens made over the scars.

Din's hands shake, the first time he touches Boba's skin. Boba's warm, and mostly, Din knows, it's that he's unused to touching another's bare skin. But Boba is as warm beneath his palms as he makes Din feel inside, and Din, despite that Boba hasn't pressed, pushes his helmet up just enough that he can brush a kiss against the curve of Boba's shoulder. Boba's breath hitches, letting Din know that he's not the only one affected in their quiet bubble of privacy.

That first time, it doesn't get much further than the stated purpose of coating Boba's scars with the ointment. Din only takes off his gloves and vambraces, and Boba remains tense throughout. The next time, Boba relaxes a little, sways into Din's touch. Din lets his hands linger, lets them trace the patches of scar tissue twisting over Boba's form. He begins to find older scars, hidden under the damage the sarlacc inflicted.

Each time they bunk down, Fennec and Cara alternating shifts with them, Din tends to Boba's scars. Din takes off his chestplate, one night, and when Boba sways back toward him, he leans in, briefly embraces Boba's torso. They both hold very still, then slowly, incrementally, relax. The next time Din leaves off all his armour, save his helmet.

Slowly, Din rubs the ointment over Boba's back and down his arms, hands lingering on the scars but touching everywhere else too, feeling the solidness of Boba beneath his warm skin. Even naked, Boba is deadly, and that only makes him more attractive to Din. Tension eases slowly from Boba’s sturdy frame as he relaxes into Din’s careful touch. Din leans over Boba's shoulder, massaging the ointment into one of Boba's hands, caressing each finger, each knuckle. He stays behind Boba as he works, even as he rubs the ointment over the trailing scars on Boba's chest. 

Boba leans back, warm against Din's chest. His breath hitches again when the heel of Din's hand scrapes over a nipple, and Din pauses, tentatively pinching the little peak of flesh and earning a moan. Din plays with Boba's chest with one hand, the other drifting south, petting over the softness of Boba's stomach, then down to his thigh. He rubs up the thick muscle, hesitating just beneath Boba's groin. They haven't tested this yet - have been slowly circling toward what intimacy they might be comfortable with.

"You can touch my cock," Boba says. "Want you to touch me there." He's not fully hard, but his cock is thick and flushed and starting to stiffen. Din cups it, sliding his hand down to weigh Boba's balls in his palm. Boba lets out a stuttering breath, almost a moan, and Din closes his fingers around Boba's cock. "Fuck," Boba breathes, and the ointment isn't meant for this, but it's plenty slick enough to ease the way as Din strokes up Boba's cock. 

"Don't look at me," Din says, a request more than an order, and while Boba's head lolls on his shoulder, the other Mando keeps his eyes closed and face forward. Din awkwardly pulls off his helmet, and presses his lips to Boba's temple, his cheek, his neck. Boba moans, and his eyes flutter minutely but remain closed. He licks his lips. 

"Not - not yet, but - maybe - you could blindfold me," Boba offers, and Din, already hard, moans at the thought of Boba making himself vulnerable like that, trusting Din that much. 

"Yes," Din gasps out, rolling his hips against Boba's back. "Not - not yet," he agrees, "but fuck, Boba, yes." 

Boba chuckles softly, and it slides into another moan as Din squeezes his cock. Eager now to undo Boba as thoroughly as that idea undoes him, Din strokes Boba the way he likes to touch himself when he’s in a hurry, rough and fast with a bit of a squeeze at the base and a twist over the head. Boba groans, pushing into his hand, fucking his fist. 

Din has to kiss Boba again, taste the salt sweat off his skin. It's the warmth he likes best, the solidness of Boba and the slick heat of his cock. Din thinks he might like to taste Boba there too, lick the pearly precome off the tip. The words spill out of his mouth before he can filter them:

"Want to suck you, taste you," Din pants, and Boba comes, rocking against him with a stifled moan. He spurts over Din's hand, over his stomach and thighs, and Din gentles his strokes, eases Boba through the blinding pleasure of orgasm. Eyes held tightly closed, Boba turns slightly, pressing his mouth to Din's neck, his jaw, his chin. Blunt teeth scrape against Din's stubble, and a warm tongue licks over his skin. 

"Want that too," Boba rasps. "But if you can get your cock out without getting the rest of your kit off, and I'm guessing you can, I get first taste, so helmet on."

Din lets out a ragged laugh, fumbling for his helmet. Once it's on, he gently turns Boba's head, presses their foreheads together the way Boba began instigating since Din broached the idea of them becoming intimate. Boba said that at least among the type of Mandalorians his father had grown up with, this was a kiss - familial or romantic or platonic between comrades, but nevertheless a kiss. Din's taken to the affectation readily, enjoys the simple steadiness of pressing their brows together like this. 

Boba doesn't move for a long moment, drawing out the kiss. Din takes the opportunity to undo his belt and some fastenings, so he can pull out his cock. Boba's come is still on his fingers as he pulls himself free, and Din moans softly, shivering at the idea of taking that step, being utterly bare before Boba. 

"You sound so good," Boba says quietly. He shifts, presses his lips to the bottom of Din's helmet, where Din's mouth is hidden. Broad hands slide down the front of Din's under-armour, then dip into the parted fabric of his flies. Din moans as Boba shifts between his legs, folding down to press a kiss to the tip of Din's cock. 

"Fuck Boba," Din grunts as Boba's lips part, then seal slick-wet around the head of his cock. Boba's tongue is a searing heat sweeping around the crown, and Din keens softly, fingers scrabbling over Boba's scarred head. "Fuck, so hot, so wet, shit," Din babbles, one of Boba's hands stroking down Din's shaft, the other sliding into his clothes and rubbing his stomach. 

Boba sucks Din deeper, tongue pushing along the underside of his cock. Din's pretty sure he can see stars, and the warmth - the heat of Boba's mouth - the gentle caresses against his belly - he can't last. Boba sucks a couple more times, strokes and squeezes with his hands, and Din is coming, swearing and bucking into Boba's mouth and coming harder than he has since he was a teenager. 

Din keens, pumping into Boba's mouth. Boba rubs Din's thighs, soothing the spasming muscle. He sucks Din, more gently now, working him through the peak of pleasure. Slowly, Boba eases off, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses against the insides of Din's thighs. Gently, Din pulls Boba up, cradling him against his chest, between his thighs. Boba's warm weight settles against Din, and Boba presses soft kisses against the vulnerable arch of Din's throat. Din thinks tomorrow night, he might just take off his helmet.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @wrennette on tumblr, pillowfort a dreamwidth too, feel free to come say hi!


End file.
